Summer Clearing We pick locusts sliding fresh from the dunes like little Saint John the Baptists wandering in our wildness. Our little wilderness, sanctuaried by a wheat truck and a chain, arrives each time the metal-gray auger slips under the patch of dust- blue prairie sky.
Posted on October 10th, 2006 by Tobias
Filed under: Hollow Men, Nostalgia, Poetry, Time | 3 Comments »
